A Game Called Love

Pushed and shoved to the sideline

Till they want us.

Hushed & forgotten in a corner

till they need us.

Used, abused, refused, rebuked.

Dissed, dismissed, discharged, banished.

We are not people,

We are pawns.

And they know how to play us.

Groomed and pruned and polished

For their comfort.

Trained and entertained

By our ruthless butchers.

Scrapped, snipped, slashed, sheared.

Chopped, sliced, diced and minced.

We are not people,

We are lambs.

And they know their choicest cut.

Like a jailbird, guilty of loving too much,

We're bound in the shackles of its complexities.

Caught in the incantation of our wizards,

We yield to the pleonexia of these mercenaries.

We splurge; we indulge,

We spoil them with our zeal.

Our passion mistaken for sightlessness,

We're played like marionettes, on string.

And yet do you hear a single squeal?

A word of complaint, whining,

Or even a cavil?

We let them use us for their behoof

For we're clapped in the fetters,

In a game called love.